


Wishful thinking

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: AUish, Bodyswap, M/M, Rosquez Birthday 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: This is not what Valentino counted on when he made that wish,I wish I were as young as he is.He didn’t expect to wake up in a bedroom that’s most certainly not his. Neither did he expect to find himself staring in horror at Marc’s face blinking back at him in the mirror, the reflection’s expression looking as terrified as he himself feels.





	1. Chapter 1

Valentino doesn’t care about his age.

He doesn’t count and he doesn’t dwell on the numbers, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, as the only number that holds importance to him is ten. Even if that is the one he’s the furthest from. 

The jokes about him being old stopped being funny long time ago, when he was around thirty-two or thirty-three, during those dreadful Ducati days he likes to conveniently forget about. Sure, he still laughs at the jokes, because that’s what is expected of him, but Valentino doesn’t find the humour in them.

Only sometimes he gets caught up in this sort of melancholy that doesn’t fall in line with the Peter Pan persona everyone assumes is true. Only at times the reality of _not getting any younger_ sinks in. 

And the day of him turning another year older is one of those days. 

Today, Valentino is in a weird mood. Even though it’s his birthday, he doesn’t really feel like celebrating. Sure, he raises his glass of champagne when Uccio makes a toast in his name, but it’s half-hearted at most, not enthusiastic at all. And still, apparently good enough to fool his friend. 

Valentino might pretend that this isn’t a big deal, just another birthday, like any other. But the fact is, that forty is kind of a big deal. Bigger than he thought it would be. Hearing the phone beeping with another congratulatory message is annoying him instead of making him happy that so many people remember, like it should. The truth is, he doesn’t want to deal with them. The texts keep on coming, though, and by the tenth one, he turns his phone on silent, relieved when the noise stops.

Even Uccio’s company isn’t as entertaining today as it normally is, so Valentino excuses himself out of a meeting with him early, telling his friend something about meeting Luca later. Which is only a half-lie, because Valentino is meeting Luca later. Just not today.

If someone told him before that he’d be spending his birthday at home, watching the reruns of some shitty tv show, Valentino would’ve laughed in their face. Ridiculous. Completely not believable. And yet, it’s exactly what he’s doing, grabbing a handful of microwave popcorn as Davide breaks into tears after finding out that Sofia was a cheater. 

It’s how Valentino spends the rest of the day, only the names of the characters changing as he flips through the channels. He does think it is rather sad and maybe he really is getting old, if that’s his preferred way of celebrating, but today he’d rather stay at home than be anywhere else.

It’s not even midnight before Valentino’s head hits the pillow, the blanket pulled up to his neck.

He takes a glance at the phone for the last time, just in case, and sits up when he sees the sender of the newest text. It’s from Marc, as in Marc _Marquez_ , and it’s probably the biggest surprise Valentino has had this day. His wishes are short and rather generic, but the fact that he bothered fills Valentino with something he can’t quite name.

It’s not surprising that Marc remembered when their birthdays are only a day apart. But it’s surprising that Marc went out of his way to send that message when their relationship is shakily civil at best. Another offering of peace, that’s what Valentino think it is. And, of course, he remembers that Marc’s birthday is on the next day, how could he forget when it’s another reminder of how similar and different at the same time they are. 

Sixteenth of February turns into seventeenth when Valentino’s contemplating what his response to the message should be. Whether to write more than just a simple _thanks_ or not. It wouldn’t be enough, he decides, so he thinks of a few sentences that wouldn’t feel too personal, neither impersonal.

Valentino hits the send button after typing the last of the wishes he genuinely hopes would come true for Marc, and sleep finally gets to him, as he closes his eyes with one thought in his mind: 

_I wish I were as young as he is._

*

This is not what Valentino counted on when he made that wish.

He didn’t expect to wake up in a bedroom that’s most certainly not his. Neither did he expect to find himself staring in horror at Marc’s face blinking back at him in the mirror, the reflection’s expression looking as terrified as he himself feels.

*

Marc is a lot less bothered than Valentino would’ve imagined him to be. 

The first surprise Valentino gets happens even before the call is connected. He finds Marc’s phone on the bedside cabinet, the battery almost dead, but thankfully there’s a charger still in the socket; otherwise, he’d have yet another problem to deal with. He presses his thumb to the scanner, almost expecting it to not work. If all else is already going wrong, why should this be different? 

Except, this time his predictions don’t come true. The screen unlocks and a photo of Marc with baby Marquez shows up as the background, taken in that year where both of them became world champions, from what Valentino can see.

_Good year._

For them. For him. For him and Marc especially, how good their relationship was, though now it’s such a distant memory that it’s almost as if never happened. 

It’s all in the past, and Valentino knows it’s not coming back.

He tries to conceal his surprise when he begins to type the digits of his own number and the phone suggests him a saved contact. It doesn’t make any sense. _Why?_ Why would Marc still have his number when Valentino deleted all of Marc’s traces from his life back in 2015 and hasn’t thought about it ever since?

(Lies. All lies.)

Valentino shakes his head, leaving those musings for later. There are more important matters at hand and he shouldn’t let his mind stray to dangerous places. There isn’t any point in doing so, not when _he isn’t even himself._

He puts the phone to his ear and waits, each second feeling like a minute, maybe even hour. 

Marc’s voice on the other end of the line is more sleepy than anything else, not a trace of that panic Valentino has been feeling ever since he woke up. There’s even a yawn on Marc’s side, and Valentino is almost offended by how carefree he seems, whether it’s an act or not.

“Do you understand how serious this is?” Valentino hisses, appalled. “Hell, how the fuck is that even possible!”

He nearly yells into the phone, but it seems like it hardly has any effect on Marc. 

“It happened on its own, so it’ll probably pass on its own. Maybe we just need to sleep, and tomorrow everything will be back to normal,” Marc says, and the words are even more jarring spoken in Valentino’s voice.

“You’re not going to do anything?”

_Is Marc serious?_

“Listen,” Marc sighs, the exasperation finally slipping in to his voice. _Took you long enough._ “I’m not exactly thrilled to be spending my birthday in your body, either. I woke up only to see Uccio’s face first thing in the morning.”

_Right. It’s your birthday._

Among all the drama, that fact has completely escaped Valentino’s mind. His stomach clenches, because it makes everything even worse; at the same time, it’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, that it didn’t happen on his birthday. Small mercies. 

“So, you want to do something, but do you even know what?” Marc then continues. “Or do you just expect to do _something?_ ”

Silence.

If Valentino had any idea, they surely wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. 

“See, that’s what I meant.” The tone of Marc’s voice gets on Valentino’s nerves. It’s too rational, annoyingly rational when their situation is anything but. “I’ll try to google what it could be, but if neither of us finds anything, I think it’s best to sleep it off. Tomorrow things will be back to normal, I’m sure.”

_I wish I could be as sure as you are._

But it’s not like Valentino has any other plan. So he agrees, albeit reluctantly, and the beep of the disconnected call has him no less tense than he was before. 

*

Turns out, not a thing has changed overnight.

In the morning, Valentino wakes up in the sheets he doesn’t recognize, brushes teeth with Marc’s toothbrush, and washes the face that has all the unfamiliar angles. He spends quite a lot of time staring at the reflection in the mirror, pulling faces, puckering the lips. It’s no longer that panic he felt the day before, but today he’s feeling a strange kind of detachment, as if his brain and the body it’s issuing the commands to were two separate entities. Which, technically, they are, but not quite in that sense.

Being in Marc’s house feels wrong. Not only weird, although that’s something Valentino feels too, but just wrong. It’s not the matter of never having been here before, not really. It’s something else. 

In this house, Marc is everywhere.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise and it doesn’t, as it _is_ Marc’s house. But it also doesn’t stop Valentino from wanting to flee, to get out and don’t come back, rent a hotel and pray for the normality to return. He knows he can’t, not when everyone believes _him_ to be Marc Marquez, but having to deal with Marc’s constant presence in every nook and corner is almost too much for him to handle. 

Valentino thought he was over it. Over Marc. Over them. Over whatever happened and what hasn’t, even though he wished it had.

But it’s clear as a day (rather cloudy today, ironically), that this is not the case, no matter what lies he feeds himself and everyone around. 

He tries to go about things normally, as normally as he can, trying to execute the same routine he completes every day at his own house, seeking comfort in familiar actions and patterns. It’s not working as well as he hoped, but it’s the best he can do not to lose his mind. 

Valentino observes his arms moving, catching the washed out t-shirt and pulling on it. And it’s exactly like that, them moving on their own, not him moving the limbs. Everything is different and weird and having to stand on a chair to reach that bottle of shower gel that is on the highest shelf in the cabinet is one of the strangest experiences. He reaches for it, hissing when the dull ache begins to throb in his shoulder, and it’s only then that he remembers about Marc’s surgery.

It should be better by now, it shouldn’t hurt so much, Valentino thinks. All that physical therapy couldn’t go to waste, right? And judging from all those social media posts, Marc has had to go through a lot of it.

It’s entirely ridiculous, how many times Valentino has typed Marc’s username in that tiny search bar, looking for any new info on Marc’s state. His search history consists of nearly one name only. But at the same time, he cannot bring himself to click that _follow,_ not after everything. His pride wouldn’t allow him to. So this is how it is.

(Any kind of update, he has seen them all. He hasn’t missed that poorly photoshopped picture, either, the one with his own head attached to the body of one of the doctors. _Best doctor._ If only.)

Valentino rubs the sore shoulder, his fingertips following the red line where the scalpel must’ve made a cut in Marc’s skin. He changes the water stream into a colder one with the hope of alleviating the pain radiating towards his elbow, even by a little. Carefully, he steps in the shower, shivering a little when the first drops hit his limbs. 

Ah, the showers. Well. Taking showers is a bit of a problem, too. 

His cheeks are flushed and he would like to blame the heat for the redness that spreads on his face, but that’s not the case. The shame is hot, even more so because he has imagined this body he is now in command of, not covered by a single scrap of clothing, completely bare, although in a slightly different circumstances. 

He’s intent on just staring at the walls in Marc’s bathroom, making sure he’s always looking up, never down, and in no time he has the tiles’ pattern memorised by heart. Valentino needs to lean his forehead against them as he spreads the foam, trying to make as little contact with that body as is possible. It’s as if he were intruding on Marc’s personal space, seeing and touching something he is not supposed to see and touch. That’s how it feels. 

The shower is so short he must’ve broken some kind of record, but the touch of fabric against his body is comforting. Valentino goes down the staircase, stepping towards the kitchen. The house is oddly quiet, and it unsettles him in some way, the lack of sounds and life between one wall and another. He’s never imagined how Marc’s house could look like, but this is certainly not the first thing he’d think about. Quiet is not something he’d ever associate with Marc, so the stark contrast between the silence and the little traces of Marc’s presence scattered just about everywhere creates the sort of dichotomy Valentino can’t wrap his head around. 

While he’s rummaging through the cabinets, searching for a cup to fill with caffeine, one of the mugs in particular catches his attention. Valentino reaches for it, again having to stand on a chair, and he turns it in his hands to see it from every side.

It’s a white porcelain mug with a big handle and a simple design. What makes it stand out is the photo printed on it, two young boys sitting on bikes, one Valentino recognizes as the little Marquez, the other as Marc. They’re ginning happily and Marc is missing one of his front teeth, so Valentino guesses he couldn’t have been older than first grades of primary school at the time the picture was taken. Even for that age, he looks exceptionally small. 

_Only the small bastard would be cheesy enough for something like this._

Valentino decides on that mug, pouring the most likely too strong coffee in. He takes the first sip, also taking a look around the kitchen at the same time, his eyes skimming over the counters. It doesn’t seem like they’re being used much, which is most likely a good thing, in all honestly. Valentino recalls one of Marc’s visits to his motorhome, how Marc nearly set the little kitchenette on fire, and just like back then, a fond smile is pulling at his lips. Because seeing Marc’s giggles was worth the trouble of having to explain everything to Uccio.

And, speaking of his friend, a thought enters Valentino’s mind. He almost feels bad for Marc, remembering what Marc told him about Uccio being the first person he saw on his birthday. At the same time, Valentino is ready to laugh out loud, because given Uccio’s dislike for anything even remotely connected to a Marquez, he’d like to see his friend’s face after finding out he’s been spending time with Marc unknowingly. 

There’s only a few sips of coffee left in his mug when Valentino hears the ringing, and he jumps up, running to the bedroom to get it before it stops. He almost slips and falls down the stairs in his haste to get there, almost but thankfully not.

Valentino thinks he knows what to expect when he presses the phone to his ear and he’s right. Today, Marc is less sure and more uncertain, his confidence faltering and cool waning. Valentino bites on his tongue, the _I’ve told you so_ withheld but with difficulties. 

“What are we going to do now?” Marc’s voice trembles when he’s asking the question. 

Valentino shrugs, well aware that Marc can’t see it.

He has absolutely no idea what to do. He can only hope for the issue to resolve on its own. Fast. 

*

Nothing changes on the next day and neither two days later. Valentino is almost getting used to having to stand on stools to reach anything and not having to shave since there’s barely any hair on Marc’s face. Slowly, it’s becoming a routine. 

Another thing he is getting used to is talking to Marc.

Their conversations are easy, too easy even. As if nothing had changed when all did. The topic quickly shifts from what happened to the two of them to what Marc had for breakfast and why, in his opinion, yoghurt is a better option than cereals. He tells Valentino just that, trying to argue his point, and Valentino doesn’t realise when exactly did it happen, but soon they’re both laughing over a joke Marc shared, their amusement too big for how silly it was. 

Marc’s laugher is as vibrant as Valentino remembers, the only difference being that it escapes his throat actually, not Marc’s. And the bikes, the bikes are an obligatory topic because neither of them can live without them for too long.

“Have you been to the Ranch?” Valentino asks, fully expecting Marc to have done that, but not being sure if that’s something he’d admit. 

His eyes fixate themselves on the door to the garage, where he knows all the machines are hidden, and the longing, the one he always experiences if he misses even a day on two wheels, appears. And although he’s found out where the keys to the bikes are, he knows he can’t. Not knowing his way around Andorra is the smallest of his worries, meeting Espargaró, Rins, or maybe even his own teammate, a much bigger one.

Marc isn’t saying anything, and Valentino can only hear his breathing for some time. It worries him, his stomach heavy all of a sudden, the worst kind of visions begging to form. 

It doesn’t last long, luckily, and Valentino is glad that Marc can’t see his relief over the phone.

“Yeah,” Marc admits, as if ashamed. He sounds small and not like himself, any kind of familiarity lost. 

Valentino doesn’t understand. 

“Did something happen?” he questions, the nerves back in full force. Something must’ve happed, he concludes from Marc’s reaction. The visions are on the verge of reappearing, the possibility of Marc acquiring an injury or one of the Academy boys getting hurt the most prominent ones, the brightest. 

Marc’s denial is immediate; Valentino is not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad one. “Nothing bad happened. Actually, it was a lot of fun,” quietly, Marc admits, sounding nothing but sincere. 

“That’s good, then. Which bike did you ride?”

That seems to have been the right thing to say, as barely a second later Valentino is listening to how the map of the Ranch has faded since the last time Marc was there and how he thinks there might be something wrong with the engine of one of the bikes, the revs kinda off. 

Valentino sits down on the sofa, propping his ankles on the armrest as Marc tells him about everything and anything, and he can’t decide whether it’s better to pay attention to Marc’s words or how he says them. 

And so their talks continue, growing longer with each day. 

Talking doesn’t solve anything, though, and that is a problem. 

“Let’s meet on Friday, before the testing starts,” Marc suggests on Wednesday morning, when Valentino is in the middle of packing his suitcase. “I think we should talk about what we’re going to do.”

Their flights aren’t schedules until later today, and they’ve already shared all the details on how it’s supposed to work, how to get to the airport and who to wait for. There’s not much left to do, so phoning each other seemed like the natural thing. 

Valentino nods, though he’s sure Marc can only hear the hum he also lets out. “It’ll be a disaster.”

Most likely. But he’s almost excited to try a bike that isn’t a Yamaha, to get the answer if it’s really the bike, or simply his age. It probably wouldn’t be believable, either, as he currently has the body of a very fit twenty-six year old, but still. Maybe he could see some of Honda’s secrets for himself, at least.

“You’re now me,” Marc says, and Valentino can almost hear his grin over the phone, “And I’m never a disaster on the bike.”

_That little shit._

Valentino throws his head backwards, the ceiling suddenly so much more interesting. “And you think I am?” he jokes, but the question isn’t formed only in the humorous way.

The age issue comes up again, whether he’s really suited to hop on the bike and ride at the limit again, a different bike, too. And whether he’d be riding at the actual limit, or just his own limit. There are more questions than answers and the frustration is endless. The worst thing is, he won’t know anything for real until a few races in. Until then, he’ll be clueless. 

“It’ll be a sentimental trip,” Marc laughs, the cackles distorted by the phone. “Riding a Honda again, like when you were still young.” 

“I was younger than you are now when I was riding a Honda, doesn’t that make you old, too?” Valentino counters, but he knows the jab is weak. 

Another reminder of his age and why the two of them are where they are (or maybe _how_ they are would be more accurate) is not necessary, Valentino feels bad enough even without it, when he knows his own insecurities lead to all of that. But he’s not going to tell Marc that, obviously, so he tries to insert some brightness in his voice to maintain the façade. 

The joke that is Marc’s response flies past Valentino’s head while he’s frantically making another wish, _for everything to be back to normal._

*

Valentino gets the text from baby Marquez, obviously meant for Marc, not him, when he’s waiting to board the plane. He takes a glance at one of the Honda guys who’s travelling with him and whom he doesn’t remember from the time he was a part of that team, but the guy is busy taking a nap, so it feels safe.

He doesn’t mean to invade Marc’s privacy, not at all, but when he catches his own name in one of the earlier messages exchanged between the Marquez brothers, the curiosity wins. He scrolls through most of the texts, unable to decipher some of the words as he’s never learnt Catalan and its similarity to Italian is too vague for him to understand it all. 

It seems like he’s a frequent topic of their talks, though. 

First, Valentino comes across Marc’s reaction to what happened in Sepang last year, their reconciliation. There are lots of emojis included, smiley faces from Marc and thumbs up from baby Marquez. From what Valentino can understand, Marc is rather excited and the apology is mentioned more than once, more of a surprise than Valentino thinks it should be. Baby Marquez seems to be more cautious, but he quickly gets infected with Marc’s enthusiasm, too.

Then, it’s Misano, as Valentino scrolls up a little more, the handshake or lack thereof being mentioned.

He cringes, because he’d rather forget that press conference ever took place, but at the same time, he can’t stop reading. There was no will to shake Marc’s hand on his side, that’s true, but it stemmed mostly from not wanting to bend over backwards to fulfil the journalists’ requests rather than hostility towards Marc. By that time, Valentino’s anger was mostly gone. 

That one affected Marc a lot, he can tell. There’s disappointment and regret for offering that handshake in the first place, but also feeling tricked. Some sort of betrayal. Valentino has already explained everything to him, why he did what he did, but seeing what Marc really felt back then, Valentino thinks maybe he could’ve said something earlier.

Finally, the race in Argentina shows up after he’s scrolled up enough and read a thousand other messages.

Screw that race, honestly. It’s one of those Valentino wishes he could erase from his memories permanently, once and for all, but alas it’s beyond his power. And he’s not the only one who’d like to do that, if Marc’s frantic words can be a clue. Valentino reaches the first message concerning the topic, full of fury, full of hurt. Marc gives his explanations and baby Marquez reassures him, and Valentino feels like he’s living in some sort of alternate reality, which, seeing the body he’s currently in, isn’t that far off from truth. 

Some of Marc’s sentences lack proper spelling, but Valentino is sure all those variations of _joder_ were used deliberately next to his name. 

It’s Alex’s text that catches him off guard, however, completely unexpected. He has to read it five times for the meaning to sink in, murmuring that sentence over and over again, but when it does, he’s glad he’s sitting or else his legs would’ve surely given out. 

_Marc, you need to finally get over your crush on Valentino,_ the text says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Vale!
> 
> Thank you for reading, chapter 2 should be up tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The whole flight is a torture and arriving at the hotel isn’t much better. Valentino hasn’t been able to calm down ever since he read that text, the words playing in repeat in his mind. He can’t sleep and he can’t eat and he isn’t capable of focusing on anything but that _crush, crush, crush._

In his hotel room, he’s waiting for Marc to come over, that’s what they agreed on, but that was before Valentino knew and now everything is different. The taste of acid hasn’t left his mouth ever since that moment in the airport, and when around an hour later Marc arrives, it’s still there. 

It’s the most bizarre experience of Valentino’s entire life.

Not only he wouldn’t have ever thought he’d see Marc in private ever again, not after everything that happened between them. He certainly wouldn’t have ever imagined looking at his own body spread over the sofa comfortably, the view not being a photograph, neither a reflection.

It amazes him, how, despite everything, Marc has never lost his natural cheerfulness, even managing to crack a joke, that _You look good today,_ that made Valentino splutter. The audacity of that small bastard, really. 

Marc makes himself comfortable, grabbing a bottle of water without Valentino inviting him to. They probably have similar hotel rooms, maybe even identical, so this is most likely why he is so at ease. Or maybe he’s just being his normal self, but Valentino cannot comprehend how Marc can act normal when nothing about this situation is normal.

Valentino sits down next to him on the sofa, throwing one of the pillows on the armchair opposite them. He tries to calm his thudding heart and think of something, but nothing seems appropriate really, not when Marc is looking at him in such a way. 

It’s Marc who gathers the courage to speak first, and Valentino thinks that it’s fitting. That he’s always been the braver one between the two of them.

“How are we going to go about this now?” Marc asks, his words not registering fully. “What about the test?” 

He is earnest and honest and surprisingly calm, just like he was when they were on the phone, on that day the swap hapenned. Valentino wishes he’d have a half of that calmness, or maybe a quarter, not the ongoing storm in his mind. Instead, he can only tap his foot on the ground and fidget with his fingers, because he has no answers to tell. 

“We’ll ride?”

They don’t really have much choice, do they?

“Mhm.” Valentino feels the warmth of Marc’s thigh against his own before he sees the movement. “You know what? I’m actually excited to ride a Yamaha.”

_Of course you would be. You’d be excited to ride whatever you can get your hands on._

There isn’t an ounce of judgement there, because the truth is, Valentino would be excited, too. If the circumstances were different. At the moment, he cannot bring himself to be excited about anything, not when the guilt is burning him from within.

“You want to know our secrets?” Valentino jokes, to somehow shift his focus off of those texts he still has at the front of his mind. 

“I think I should be worried about you knowing ours.” Marc punches him in the shoulder, not fully aware of the extent of his strength, as Valentino has to rub the sore spot. “Be careful when you ride the bike tomorrow, okay?” he requests.

Valentino almost laughs. Careful is not something he’s ever been, none of the riders are, that’s the kind of job they have. So what Marc is telling him borders on a joke, amusing words. “Why? You’re afraid I might damage your precious Honda?”

“Not at all,” Marc denies immediately. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You know that the bike can be a bit wild, not like the smooth Yamaha,” he says. 

And he’s so painfully sincere that even though the eyes staring back at Valentino are blue, not brown, he sees Marc in them easily, so earnest and genuinely concerned that Valentino’s stomach flips. Because that’s how Marc used to look at him, because that’s the look that made Valentino feel things he didn’t understand back then, but he understands now. Because with that added knowledge that Marc had a crush on him, it is even worse. And in that moment Valentino thanks whatever force made them swap bodies, because if not for that fact, he’d many more problems with holding himself back.

Valentino swishes his drink to distract himself from those thoughts and feelings. “Okay. Same to you. And I’ll be careful with the shoulder.”

Just like Marc did, he means it, too.

“I’m actually kind of happy, you know?” Marc shares with him, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “I couldn’t ride the whole winter and even during the first test, I couldn’t ride how I wanted. In your body, I could ride normally. And I got to be at the Ranch, too, which was the best thing of it all, to be honest.”

Valentino tires to swallow the dryness of his mouth, his attempts a failure. 

Marc pulls on the drawstrings of the hoodie, tying a bow, before continuing. “So, I think I should thank you, in a way. It was good.”

If Valentino thought he was overwhelmed before, this confession is what truly does it for him. He nods, because he can’t find appropriate words, or any words at all, Marc’s earnestness hitting all of his weakest spots. Valentino wants to scream, claw his nails in something, this is too much for him, but most of all, he wants to pull Marc close and never let go, his thoughts and feelings all over the place. Because Marc is so honest. Because he is so unguarded. Because Marc still seems to trust him, even though he should have lost that trust long ago. 

But he does none of those things, grabbing the glass of water to buy himself some time. 

They stray from the topic as Marc begins to talk about bikes again. The relief is temporary and probably short-lived, but Valentino takes a deeper breath, letting himself relax for a moment. 

He doesn’t notice the exact moment Marc moves closer; the next thing Valentino knows is Marc’s hand on his thigh as the younger man cackles after telling some joke. Valentino didn’t get the point of it, too caught up in staring at Marc, but he also laughs along and prays to retain his cool, because it’s scarily easy to lose when Marc is involved. 

*

They must’ve fallen asleep at some point as it’s clearly morning when Valentino opens his eyes and has to shield them against the insistent sunrays. It’s too early and he’s too tired to be awake, not to mention that cramp in his neck that will need a good massage before he goes on track. And there’s also this weight on his shoulder that Valentino can’t figure out in the first second due to his haziness. He stifles a yawn, and looks down, not knowing what he is expecting, but certainly not to see the black mop of hair on the top of Marc’s head. 

Wait. Marc’s head. Actual Marc’s, not the Marc-in-Valentino’s-body’s. 

Valentino almost sits up, needing to check whether he’s also back to being himself. Like, there isn’t any other option, it’s not possible for there to be two Marcs, but up until a week ago he also thought swapping bodies with another person impossible, so he feels his doubts are justified. He pulls on the shirt, the one Marc was wearing yesterday, and lets out a long breath when he sees the turtle tattoo where it should be, peeking above the band of his boxers. Finally. Everything is finally back to normal.

But, and it is an almost terrifying thought, relief isn’t the only thing he feels. 

If ever questioned about, Valentino would deny there was any disappointment. Why would he be disappointed, after all? He’s back to his own body after a week of having to endure being confined in an unfamiliar house in a unfamiliar country, against his will. Nothing good about it. Only, the house has actually become familiar, scarily quickly, just as fast as he has become accustomed to Marc’s daily presence in his life. And that is the heart of the problem, or rather the problem is his heart, because it shouldn’t be beating so fast or clenching so painfully, and yet it is. 

He would even consider leaving soundlessly, as Marc probably doesn’t want to see him first thing in the morning. But they’re in his hotel room and it’s not like Valentino has anywhere else to go, no other place he could hide in and forget. So he stays glued to the sofa, eyes glued to the wall in front of him. 

(It’s not because he doesn’t want to disturb Marc’s sleep. Not at all.)

It’s not a conscious gesture, not a decision consciously made, but his fingers are wound in Marc’s hair in no time, slightly numb from the restricted blood flow the weight of Marc’s head is the cause of. The tresses are soft and Valentino is acquainted with the scent, the countless hugs they shared allowing him to recognize it. 

Marc begins to stir, and Valentino’s heart is in his throat immediately, as he takes his arm back and tries to think of some excuse, coming up with nothing. 

“Morning,” Marc mutters, rubbing his eyes.

It’s so adorable that Valentino needs to bite on his lower lip not to reach his arm out and stroke Marc’s hair again. Instead, he sits up straight, not really knowing what to say or do. “We’re back to normal,” he breathes out in the end, as if Marc hasn’t noticed it on his own.

“Damn, and I thought I could spend some more time at the Ranch,” Marc complains jokingly. It takes all of Valentino’s willpower not to tell him that he can come over whenever he wants and wishes, that he’s always welcome, not to grab Marc’s hands between his and issue an invitation. 

He opts for a joke too, instead, the safer way, because he doesn’t trust himself not to say something he shouldn’t. “Maybe you should get your own ranch.”

Marc looks pensive, his smile slipping for a moment. “Maybe I should.”

Valentino must’ve said something wrong, that’s what the reaction suggests, but he honestly don’t know what. He reaches for one of the chocolates to have something to occupy his hands and mouth.

They remain quiet for the next few moments, only the sounds of the tv reaching them, and Valentino’s glad he didn’t turn it off before Marc’s visit. On a good day, he’s not a big fan of silence. On a day like today, it would’ve been even worse. 

Repeating Valentino’s motions, Marc also grabs a piece of chocolate, stuffing his mouth. “It was nice,” he says, words slightly distorted as he hasn’t stopped chewing yet. “Talking to you every day, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Valentino agrees, because he honestly doesn’t know what else his response could be.

Marc is looking down at his folded hands, and he seems uncharacteristically uncertain, Valentino thinks, his usual confidence having evaporated. 

“Wouldn’t you, I mean, I thought-,” Marc stutters, and Valentino puts a hand on his shoulder to let him know it’s okay. Whatever it might be.

It’s a bad thing to do, another of his bad decisions, since his throat becomes tight again the moment the touch happens. All kind of alarms are going off in his again, because he shouldn’t, because knowing about Marc’s feelings makes him feel like he’s overstepping the boundaries, crossing the lines that shouldn’t be crossed. And if he had to be honest, he is a little disgusted with himself. Both for reading those texts and for not being able to admit he did. 

Frustrated, Marc lets out a puff of air. When he looks up again, there’s determination painted on his face that wasn’t there a moment ago, a new kind of will. Valentino follows the lines of his face; he can’t quite guess what Marc might want to say but, but it must be pretty important.

It’s obvious it costs him a lot of courage, but Marc finally speaks again. “It’d be nice if we talked more often. I’d like that.”

_You can’t be serious._

“Sure.” Valentino gulps, voice cracking, Marc’s beaming smile distracting him more than just a little. “I need to know why you keep all of your mugs on the highest shelf when it’s so inconvenient.” 

Marc’s cackles resonate in his ears, and Valentino smiles without being aware of it. 

“I’ll tell you when you come over.”

_When I come over?_ What?

The shock must be clearly visible on Valentino’s face. “You’re inviting me over?”

“I mean, maybe, if you want?” Marc’s confidence falters just for a second. It’s back there asap, possibly an act, but it is. “It’s not like you haven’t been there before.”

There is no lie in that statement, but that invitation is also dangerously personal. Valentino’s heart is in his throat again, because they don’t invite each over, ever, not after that one time at the Ranch, but even then it wasn’t a one-on-one situation, what he thinks Marc is offering him now. 

“Okay,” Valentino says. It’s like he can’t deny Marc, can’t tell him no, even if his brain is screaming at him to do so. And, somehow, it feels like he’s agreeing to much more than that, only he doesn’t know what to yet. 

Somehow, that _okay_ is much more powerful than it should be. He shouldn’t agree to Marc’s offer. That internal battle he’s in the middle of is want and craving against the need to use whatever opportunity he’s being given, because he’s wasted too many of those involving Marc. So far, no winner has emerged, but Valentino has a suspicion what the victory will come with. 

“Okay,” Marc repeats the words. 

This is what does it for Valentino, and he’s no longer able to hold back, the guilt eating him up from the inside.

The voice is almost stuck in his throat. It comes out shaky, betraying the state of his nerves, but he needs to get it out, he has to. “I read your texts. Those from Alex. I’m sorry.”

Valentino is sure he has crescent-shaped marks on his palms from digging his nails so hard into them and he might as well not eat for the whole day, he most likely won’t be able to with how tight his stomach feels. He honestly doesn’t know what kind of reaction to expect; while he’s aware that Marc has a temper, he also isn’t particularly prone to outbursts. Going through Marc’s private texts is enough of a reason for a fit of rage, though.

Marc looks horrified, his eyes rounder than ever. “How much did you read?”

“Enough,” Valentino admits. 

There’s a void where his stomach should be and an obstacle clogging his throat. He can only watch as Marc’s face first pales before his cheeks flame up. Valentino is sure his own are in a similar state, he can feel the burning, and it’s like there’s not enough air in the room, there’s not enough oxygen for him. 

Neither of them can compose himself, not with the that out in the open. Marc is pacing around the room, and Valentino would have been wondering if he isn’t getting dizzy from making all of those circles, if he wasn’t too busy trying to hold the contents of his stomach down. 

“How long have you known?” Marc shoots question after question. “You didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell me, did you?” 

Valentino wants to interrupt him in some way, but Marc is in the middle of a rant, the words hardly recognizable due to the speed of his speech. Whenever he tries, nothing comes out, and he hasn’t noticed when he started shaking, but his limbs are quivering and the room feels much colder than before. 

Marc pauses and turns on his heel. “Honestly, I thought you were better than that,” he says, and the hurt translates into his voice easily. “Go ahead, start laughing already at the stupid Marquez with his stupid crush. Do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Valentino repeats. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he felt _so_ sorry. 

Ignoring him, Marc throws his hand in the air. “I don’t know what I’m still doing here. I’ll go now.” 

He resumes his pacing, his steps even faster now. He directs them towards the door, and Valentino jumps up from the sofa immediately, intent on stopping him. It can’t be. No. _You can’t go right now._

“Don’t go.” Valentino’s hand lands on Marc’s shoulder on its own. The need to comfort him is overwhelming. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all. I’m really sorry,” he tells Marc again. 

Before Marc can protest, Valentino pulls him close, their chests now against each other, the perfume that reaches his nose a familiar scent. Marc tries to free himself, but he gives up on that plan, and Valentino is holding him, one arm around his waist, the other between his shoulder blades. 

Marc looks up at him, eyes gleaming; Valentino holds his gaze, soft and hopefully conveying what he means, what he wants Marc to know. He’s not saying anything, but Marc surely must’ve guessed, right? Valentino thinks he is being rather obvious, after all. Those few moments are nerve-wrecking; normally, Valentino’s this nervous only right before the start of the race, right before the lights go out, but this situation rivals it easily. Marc is searching for something on his face, confused, seeking answers Valentino don’t provide verbally. Instead, he nods, hoping it will be enough, because he’s not capable of producing any more words at the moment. 

For a moment, Marc stares at him unblinkingly. Then, something passes over his face and the next second he’s stepping on his tiptoes, trying to make himself taller. 

And Valentino knows what Marc is about to do, he sees it in the way the smaller man tilts his head, eyes flickering to Valentino’s lips. He does nothing to stop it, letting Marc pull him by the nape of his neck and maybe even leaning down on his own a bit. 

Marc’s lips are hot, a bit dry, and very eager. He kisses like he’s expecting Valentino’s to push him away, desperate and holding onto each second, as if it would be the last one. There’s a bit of tongue involved, daring, Marquez style till the very end, and Valentino wouldn’t count on anything less.

The breathe almost gets knocked from Valentino’s lungs. There’s only enough of it left for him to whisper into Marc’s ear when they break away, barely for a second. Marc’s reaction, that shaky sigh, is delightful, and Valentino would’ve grinned, if his lips weren’t occupied with something else. 

When they part, one no less affected by the other, Valentino catches Marc’s face between his palms, holding it gently. “I like you,” he confesses, finally feeling confident enough to say it.

It’s worth every nervous second he’s had to endure, as Marc’s smile could easily blind anyone in the nearest vicinity. Valentino’s heart is still rattling in his ribcage, but for an entirely different reason. He almost expects to wake up in his own house, for the last week to be something he has only imagined in his dreams, because everything is so crazy. Marc’s fingertips on the side of his neck tell him that it is reality, indeed, and it is better than any dream he could’ve had. 

“I hope it’s not a joke and you won’t throw me out now,” Marc chuckles a bit later, not able to conceal his uncertainty fully. 

Valentino follows the movement of his tongue, swiping over the puffy, reddened lips, and his focus is gone instantly. He clears his throat, thinking Marc won’t fall for it anyway, then wrapping his arm around Marc’s waist and pulling him closer. “Not yet,” he says, coming up with an explanation when he notices Marc’s face fall. “I mean, we still have two more hours before the test starts. It would be a waste to send you away this early.”

He follows the words with another kiss to Marc’s mouth, this one softer than the previous one. The stiffness leaves Marc’s body as Valentino’s words sink it, and he relaxes in the hold, muscles changing the tense state. 

“And I won’t throw you out when you come over to the Ranch,” Valentino adds to his previous words. “Don’t worry.”

Marc eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “When I come to the Ranch?”

His astonishment is too funny. Valentino can’t resist running a hand through his hair, the messy strands pointing to various directions. “I thought you wanted to visit?” he teases, enjoying Marc’s reactions so much.

“Of course I want to visit,” Marc exclaims, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s back to the rambling, retelling the story of what he was up to at the Ranch those past few days, still in Valentino’s body, and his enthusiasm is contagious. 

“I’m too old for this,” Valentino tells Marc, a bit later, when the biggest emotions are beginning to fade and the only weight he’s feeling is Marc sitting on his lap. 

Marc blinks at him, dark eyes staring intensely. “What are we going to do now?” he asks.

Valentino doesn’t have a good answer, he’s never expected the two of them to be where they are now, so it’s not like he has put much thought into it. But there’s one thing he knows and he’s certain about, so that’s what he tells Marc, fully convinced. “We should take it slow and see where it leads us,” he says. “And I hope it will be good places.”

Marc nods against the side of Valentino’s neck, and Valentino feels lips making contact with his skin. “I hope so, too.”

This time, he doesn’t plan on repeating the same mistakes. This time, he’ll be wiser. This time, Valentino knows how losing Marc feels and he doesn’t want to go through it again. Not when he finally feels at peace with Marc spread on his lap and clinging onto him so tightly.

And Valentino is convinced they can make it work, because to the two of them, impossible has always been nothing. 

“Promise me one thing,” Marc requests, and Valentino would have probably agreed to jump off a cliff when Marc is looking at him like that. 

He hums, his thumb making slow circles on Marc’s hipbone. “Yes?”

“If you’re ever unhappy with something I do, please tell me,” Marc begins. It’s visible how much effort it costs him. “Don’t assume, just talk to me, okay?”

Valentino knows what he’s getting at, the mistakes he’s made and is unable to apologise verbally for, but he hopes Marc knows. Marc has always been smart. Smarter than him. “Okay. And I want you to promise me the same thing.”

Marc’s _Sure_ is whispered against Valentino’s lips, the faith surrounding it undeniable. There isn’t much else Valentino can do, other than surrender to the kiss and Marc’s touch. He does it gladly. It’s warm and tender and his heart is thudding in your chest in the most amazing of ways, Marc’s presence making his head spin with happiness. 

“And Vale?” Marc looks up at him again. “I already know look hot naked. I hope to see that again soon.” 

The laughter bubbles in Valentino’s chest, open and genuine, as Marc winks at him at the same time. “Same goes to you,” Valentino responds, and judging by the hands trying to make their way under his shirt, it won’t be long before Marc’s wishes come true.

And although Valentino’s birthday wish came true for less than a week and caused them so much trouble, he thinks that in the end, it was worth it. Because having Marc is something he’d have never dared wishing for, and yet this must be the best gift he’s ever received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Marc!
> 
> And a few words from me. First, I'd like to apologise for disappointing you lately. I'm sorry that my fics aren't good enough, I see the feedback I used to get and I see the one I get now, so I'm sure I'm doing something wrong. I tried to figure it out, but I honestly don't know what it is. I don't know, I probably should go on indefite hiatus to think about what is wrong since I don't think there's a point in posting bad fics, but I don't think I'll be able to do it on my own. So I have a request: please, tell me what is wrong. Are the fics boring? Is the quality of my writing bad? Did my English become bad? I honestly have no idea, so constructive criticism is welcome, because I want to improve or at least get back to the previous level. Once again, I'm sorry. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


End file.
